The Three Days
by Avalas
Summary: In the aftermath of the Finufaranell Campaign, Shazi faces a decision with critical consequences for all involved. She reflects and remembers. Set two months after the events in After Action Report.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Planescape or any of the creatures associated with any Dungeons and Dragons setting. However, the interpretations are my own.

The Three Days

Chapter 1

The rain swept the night and darkened the sky. Hitting the ground in torrents, it churned the earthen roads into mud, but that did not deter the cloaked rider as he sped towards his destination. In the distance the city of Finufaranell glowed with an ethereal light, much as it had for generations past. The jewel of the south had always served as a beacon and a gateway for trade ships seeking to reach the sea, but that was not the rider's destination. Atop the eastern hills were fortifications, once home to the elven city's guard, now occupied by invaders unearthly and fantastical. Drow, orcs, demons, and every combination in between were now seen patrolling a sprawling military complex overlooking the city. This was the central hub of the Finufaranell Occupation Zone.

It had only been a season since Finufaranell had been conquered. The slopes leading to the garrison were pockmarked with craters and debris. Sections of the parapet were still damaged from the battle and in dire need of repair, though that did not appear to be a priority anytime soon. The new occupants had their hands full as it was, for the dominant feature of the base was its field hospital, with hundreds of beds attending to the needs of both the occupiers and the inhabitants of the city. On a clear night, the moans of the wounded and the guttural dirges of the burial detail lingered like a stench over the river valley. However, on this particular night, the rain and thunder ruled.

The horse stumbled as it approached the parapet, its hind legs sinking into the mud. After a few aborted attempts to extricate itself, the creature only managed to mire itself further. The rider lent down, whispered something to his mount, and then jumped off. He proceeded on foot.

"Halt! Identify yourself!" a voice from above the gate shouted.

The man acted as if he had not heard. Not bothering to even raise his head, he slowly put one foot in front of the other.

"Halt!" cried the voice again. Again there was no response.

The next sound to come from the gate was the snapping of several crossbows, fired in rapid succession at the intruder. Their target had anticipated this, though, and before the bolts could land he was somersaulting through the air towards the top of the wall. However, the moment he landed, he was tackled into submission by no less than half a dozen guards.

"We caught one, Captain!" one of the guards called.

Moments later, an officer emerged from the stairway. "Pull him up," he commanded.

The guards complied, yanking the intruder up by his golden braids. Through infravision they could all see the man's elven features, but the officer's eye caught something the rest of them had missed. "You fools. Can't you see he's one of ours? Look at his collar. He has more rank than all of you put together."

Though the guards loosened their grip and backed away, they remained wary. The intruder stretched his neck from side to side; several loud pops could be heard. "Much better. I have to say, not bad, not bad at all."

One of the guards attempted to apologize. "Sir, I'm sorry, I did not know."

"You were doing your duty. If they don't answer, you shoot. It's that simple."

"What brings you here, Lieutenant?"

"Victory."

"You're probably here for Shazi, then."

The man smiled and bowed.

-

In a small guardhouse some distance away, a woman was getting ready for bed. Having squared away her daily paperwork with her orderly, she was proceeding with a routine of light exercise. She had been sitting for far too long, and working up a sweat helped take her mind off things. Her name was Shazi, a drow by birth and a golem pilot by training, and the administration of the occupation zone was her responsibility.

As far as governors went, it was an understatement to say that Shazi did not look the part. Her five-foot frame was slim, but powerfully built with sinewy shoulders and the rough hands of a peasant. Upon her back she wore tattoos that marked her time of service in the Blood War, of battles won and of battles lost, of memories both triumphant and bitter. She was a soldier in the People's Army, and her silvery hair was still cropped short as when she had left home for the front. To the marrow of her bones, she felt more capable in the fight than behind a desk, but this was where she was needed.

Suddenly, her orderly burst through the door. A small, wiry, fellow, the tiefling could have easily passed for an elf or a half-elf were it not for his black irises, which had a habit of darting about when he was bothered. The half-dressed woman stopped mid-pushup and glanced up. "Jorunder's coming. Looks like he has someone with 'im."

Shazi muttered some unintelligible curses as she threw on her wool overcoat and plopped herself down behind her desk. Without needing to be told, the batman collected her shoes, pants, and socks, piled them up hurriedly, and stashed them under the bed. Shazi had but one room to herself, and this was where she worked, slept, and took her meals. Moments later, a knock came.

"It's Jorunder. A messenger's come for you."

"Enter."

The two men made their entrance. One was human, of medium stature and dusky complexion. The other was an impeccable specimen of the elven race who stood half a head shorter. Both were wearing heavy waxed cloaks that were dripping from the rain. The orderly offered to collect their cloaks, but the elven-faced man pushed him away. "This will be quick," he said.

"So, what's the news?"

"I, Lieutenant Shranin, have been sent by Rebkah to deal with you. The 1st Marine Brigade reports victory."

Shazi sighed. "Deal with me?" she asked in annoyance.

"Yes, deal with you."

Sensing the tension rising, the Shazi's orderly stepped between the two. "I swear, every time I see you, Lieutenant, you're wearing a different face. Are you sure you don't have any condition that makes you feel inadequate? Or is it simply the fact that you can't resist wandering off to scavenge the flesh of the dead?"

The visitor scowled, twisting that face of his into an inelegant expression. "On the contrary. I do this in mockery of the enemy. To take his face and spit upon everything he stands and fights for. This form belonged to one of the feudalists' last generals. Now, his men, the ones who survive, will look upon this face with dread and with hatred. Of course, I don't expect a man who hides his face from the enemy behind three inches of steel plate to understand."

Clutching his heart and feigning hurt, the orderly replied, "You're right. You're right, you're right." Then his lips instantly curled into a grin. "But that's why we're here and you're there."

"All right, cut the crap, both of you," Shazi ordered. "I can assume, Lieutenant, that you have news of our operations in the Himvesta Hills. Well?"

"Victory, Commander. We won. They tried to make a stand against us, and we slaughtered them like sheep. We've killed or captured virtually their entire force, including their leaders. A column of prisoners and wounded will be arriving here sometime tomorrow, so you can expect them. Now, only the two forest redoubts remain."

"Our losses?"

"Minimal. You can expect a detailed accounting when all the reports are tallied."

"Is that all?"

"No, Commander. We've captured the leaders of their resistance alive."

"So which general is it this time?"

"If only. We're talking about the Duke and Duchess of Finufaranell."

"The Banindares?" Shazi asked incredulously. "But weren't they--"

"Killed? Yes, along with the entire royal family. But these ones we've caught are their spawn. Despite their youth, they're claiming to be next in line. That makes them the leaders of the resistance. I suppose we should execute them tomorrow. So which will it be, dismemberment, disembowelment, or firing squad?"

The commander cracked her knuckles and glared at the messenger. "In case you weren't aware, you are not in a position to give me suggestions. I will only take action after this matter has been discussed by the General and the Council. Until then I don't want to see you or any of your troops doing or starting anything. You got that?"

"Don't tell me you're--"

"I'm not telling you anything except that you're dismissed."

The man grunted and left. After a few moments, when the messenger was safely out of earshot, Jorunder, who had been silent the whole time, approached Shazi's desk. Placing his palms down, he leaned over close to the woman's ear. In a fierce whisper, he said, "Commander, I implore you not to go through with the execution. These are children we're talking about."

"Don't you think I know that?" Shazi replied nonchalantly.

"I don't know how you handled things in the Blood War, but we can't be killing these children. Think of the consequences, the backlash this might cause. Think--"

As a signal for silence, the woman put her hand on the officer's shoulder and pushed him away. "I am thinking, Captain" she began slowly, "that I have been allowing you and your command to forage for provisions to help feed the local population. I have also been neglecting to report the times that you directly distributed our surplus medical supplies to the people of this city. If I am not mistaken, I have in my desk an order expressly forbidding such actions. It's quite a dilemma."

"This is blackmail!"

"Call it what you will, but I'm done for tonight."

The captain bowed out, albeit with a grimace upon his face. After he left, the woman sighed and slumped in her chair. She had more than half a century of experience in the Legion under her belt, but in that time, she never had more than a squad or two under her command. How times have changed. Ever since the remnants of the 81st Kalas Division escaped annihilation by fleeing to the Prime, Shazi had found herself thrust into positions of responsibility. As the most experienced golem pilot among the survivors, others looked to her for leadership. Now, as the commander of armored forces, she was in charge of hundreds of men and machines and came to learn to present a persona that was befitting of her station. She did not enjoy it, but it was what she had to do. She had to be stern, she had to be cold, and under no circumstances could she be seen playing favorites. The only people around whom she could drop the mask were her old squadmates, whom she retained in various menial roles around the camp.

She fired up the tetrahedral transponder atop her desk and dialed in the terminal of Army Command. She inserted a brief note: "Son and daughter of the Duke of Finufaranell captured by Marines under Rebkah. Claim to be legitimate rulers. Will be delivered in zone tomorrow. Request further instructions." She did not feel like writing more, so that concluded her duties for the day.

When the orderly saw Shazi finish her work, he took the opportunity to break the silence. "Those maurezhi could be trouble. The elves aren't stupid. They'll notice this face theft sooner or later, and there will be hell to pay."

Shazi rubbed her temples and sighed. "I'll need to talk to Rebkah. She needs to keep those boys on a tighter leash."

"You also really shouldn't have done that to Jorunder."

The commander removed her overcoat and draped it over her chair. "You know what kind of position I'm in."

"Of course, of course. Though, it must be hard for you to see him like that."

"He's kind," she admitted. "He reminds me of my brother."

"Not another one of your tales of your sweet Valas."

"Jealous? You're like the bastard little brother I never had."

"Ha! Good night, Commander."

"Good night, Balko, I'll see you in the morning."

The tiefling exited the room, leaving Shazi alone by herself once more. This feeling still took some getting used to. Even though she knew that guards were nearby, the feeling just wasn't the same. As a child, she always had her brother by her side. In her years of service to the Legion, she had her squadmates. They would catch whatever shuteye they could propped up against their golems or huddling together for warmth in Stygian ice storms. And with her years of relative peace on the Prime, she always had her family—her husband and her son. She thought of them now, as she lay in her bed. Because of this war, she could not be there for planting season. Instead of peaceful labor, the power of the golems had to be turned towards war. Undoubtedly many of the farmers back home would have rough time this year. The situation was worse for military families like her own, as her son too had been shipped out to the front. When she had heard from the messenger that the losses incurred in the Himvesta battle were minimal, her heart was relieved.

Such a strange feeling too was motherhood. Though she had always been surrounded by family—first her brother, and then her comrades—the thought of passing on one's flesh and blood was something that she had not even considered a few decades ago. Neither she nor her brother could remember their parents. Their first memories began with the Demonweb Pits, where they were trained to be slaves to the servants of the Spider Queen. When she was liberated by the Bloodfist Legion, the great Marshal Gav groomed her to be a soldier and a killer in the Blood War. But two-and-a-half decades on the Prime could do much to change a simple soldier.

Her thoughts drifted to the past, to past incidents that she did not want to revisit. However, the decision before her demanded that she remember. It was thirty-five years ago, in one of the last successful campaigns of the Bloodfist Legion. Upon the Outlands, near the gate-towns of Rigus and Fortitude, the Legion was laying siege to the domain of one Count Duyi Shao. The man had close ties with both the Mercykillers and the Harmonium, and his lands served as an important staging area for their armies, as well as the armies of their baatezu allies. The Marshal was determined to deprive the enemy of that strategic position and make its smoldering ruins serve as a warning to any Outlands noble thinking about meddling in the Blood War. The memory of their victory would haunt Shazi for the rest of her days.

-

The company of golems made its way through the fortress of Ceras, climbing over piles of debris. All around them the sounds of bitter fighting raged, block by block, house by house. After a week, there was hardly an undamaged building in the entire city. Brick and stone pavement had been torn up for makeshift barricades, and houses had been turned inside out, their contents littering the streets, for anything that could be useful to the defense. However, it was clear that the defenders had reached their breaking point long ago. They were encircled, with two Legion corps to the West providing an impenetrable barrier to any forces that could come to their aid. They were on their own with dwindling resources, numbers, and morale. It was only a matter of time, and that time was now at hand.

"There it is, Comrades," Shazi announced over the speakerphone as the final objective came into view. "The city hall."

Her second chimed in. "We're the first ones here, aren't we?"

"That we are." A round of cheers issued from the rest of the unit.

"Look, Shazi, we can take them. We're ready."

"No, we're all staying put until our infantry finishes clearing these roads. I'm not going to get reckless simply because we have the chance to be first. We don't know what kind of surprises they might be preparing, and I doubt any of you want the distinction of being the last to die."

"We don't have to attack, you know. Their resistance is already futile as it is. If we could convince them to surrender--"

"Who'll guard the prisoners? We need the infantry for that."

Another voice inserted itself into the discussion. "You know--"

"Yes, what the hell is it, Balko?"

"While the two of you are debating the finer points of negotiation, something's happening on the other side."

Indeed, something was. Shazi's mouth opened wide in shock as she peered through her golem's scope. Infantry was arriving, just on the other side of the building. And they didn't seem to be waiting for anybody as they simply leapt straight into the attack. Riding high-low, that is, half-airborne and half-grounded, they appeared to be rushing madly towards the building in a brutally simple attempt to swarm it. Some heavily-armored armanites had already landed on the roof and were kicking and throwing defenders to their deaths. "They're going in unsupported?" Shazi muttered incredulously.

"Who are they?" asked the Second.

Shazi scanned hard with the scope, catching a glimpse of a pair of feathered white wings descending upon the roof. "Marines. Lygess's outfit. I'd recognize that fake featherhead anywhere."

"We have to move in to support them!"

Grunting in frustration, the commander realized that she had no choice. "Taul, you take your mate and recon left. The rest of us will be crashing in through the main gate. Balko, give us cover fire. Casters set to lightning—we don't want any incidents."

The Second and another golem sprinted forward. They leapt over obstacles in their path and zig zagged on their way to the target, abruptly cutting left just as they reached the building. The other eight promptly followed, though they stayed true to their course. Without any hesitation, the war machines crashed shoulder-first into the giant reinforced doors. The entire structure trembled with each blow, and after a few hits the doors began to show signs of buckling. Several defenders attempted to pour oil from the roof in a last-ditch attempt to disrupt the attack, but before they could get into position they were picked off by electric bolts.

The hammering at the gate grew more frenzied and violent. Sections of door crashed inward, revealing wide chasms through which the attackers blindly poured in fire. The last refuge of the city had become a cauldron of death. Then, suddenly, the doors finally gave way. A number of the defenders were crushed or impaled by the heavy planks. Others froze helplessly before being trampled by the rush of steel. Those were still able to fight quickly realized the futility of their struggle. With swords and bows held overhead, they surrendered.

"Check fire, check fire, check fire!" Shazi screamed to her bloodlusted comrades. They stopped. The woman breathed a sigh of relief—it was over. However, that feeling of relief quickly turned to horror as she surveyed the carnage around her, for the last bastion of the city had but a few soldiers defending it. The bulk of the "garrison" consisted of women and children, many of whom now lay as charred and bloodied corpses on the floor of the central atrium. For a moment, a surreal silence enveloped the scene, but then the wails of the dying and the cries of the bereaved came the fore. The enormity of her actions dawned upon Shazi. She had seen men and their families blasted apart by artillery, children shredded by scattershot. She had always written such things off as the expected side effects of war, but to have her hand so directly responsible for such carnage was something she could not reason away.

As she stood in shock, the other unit's commander made her appearance. At the now-missing front doors, Lygess emerged, flanked by two bulezau. Her mottled fatigue had been slashed in several places, revealing the green steel scale vestments she wore underneath. One of her arms was red and bandaged, though she did not appear to be bothered by it. She looked around, blinking a couple of times, and announced, "I appreciate the assist, Lieutenant, but as you can see, we had the situation well in hand."

The golem pilot spun her machine to face the other officer. "What were you thinking? You could have been leading your unit into a trap."

"But we didn't, did we? And we didn't need your assistance."

"We only went in to save your hides."

"And this is the result? Forgive me, Lieutenant, but this showing doesn't speak well for your efficiency."

"Efficiency. Spoken like a true Baatezu whore!"

Lygess cocked an eyebrow. "I'll ignore that. You and your tin men just stay out of our way."

Indeed, there was very little that Shazi could say to her rival. She was stuck there, in a fifteen-foot tall steel behemoth while Lygess and her troops were already tending the wounded and moving the corpses. They despised soldiers like her, who sat within the protective steel cocoon of their machines. They were the ones in the trenches, in the dirt and the mud, living and dying by their own strength.

The marines gathered all the survivors into a central location. They were a ragged lot, starving and haggard. And although some attempted to retain an air of civility through the finery of their clothing, their overall filth precluded any such impression. A few of the prisoners prostrated them before their conquerors and proceeded denounce their Count. They claimed to have been blindly following orders and that they had no affinity whatsoever with the cause of either the Harmonium or the Mercykillers. Lygess observed with a cool contempt, but she made it clear to them that nothing would happen to the commoners who had been captured. No, her sights were set much higher. In short order, the apish form of a bar-igura shambled out of the cellar holding aloft a struggling boy of about six or seven years. Wrapped around his leg was a young woman, clad in rags, who was pleading with the soldier to let the child go. He paid her no attention and approached the commander with both of them in tow.

Lygess took one look at the child. "Aah, yes, here he is. The new Count Shao. He's the only one who has to die."

Upon hearing that, the servant woman clutching the soldier's leg rushed to cover the child. "No, please, don't!" she cried.

The marine commander stared at her silently for a moment and then delivered a crushing left to her jaw. Stunned, the woman loosened her grip enough to be tossed aside. "You dare side with your oppressor? What a fool you are." Lygess unsheathed her sword and leveled it to the boy's neck. He was squirming and twisting, but he could not escape the bar-igura's vise-like grip. At this point, Shazi, who had resigned herself to watching in silence, felt something snap within her. She and her machine rushed forward. In two bounds, she was upon them. Her golem's massive blade blocked the path of Lygess's sword. Lygess looked up with contempt. "I do hope that you are reconsidering what you're about to do."

"I'm not letting you kill anyone else, least of all a child."

"Aren't you just projecting your own guilt onto others? I, for one, believe that violence is an art, a tool to be judiciously applied. Only one has to die."

"I won't allow it!"

Lygess tilted her head; a troop of marines rushed to their commander's side and others took swarming positions around Shazi's golem. Seeing this, the other golems prepared to square off against the infantry. "Then come at me, tin man. What do I have to fear from a coward who hides behind a wall of steel?"

That did it. Shazi popped the hatch and somersaulted out of her golem. Landing with a roll, she grabbed the sword of a fallen guard and took a mid-guard stance against her impudent rival. She was an excellent sword fighter. All golem pilots were, since they all trained for superior balance and reflexes. However, within seconds of sizing up her opponent, she realized just how profoundly stupid her decision had been. She was merely a drow with some augmentations; Lygess was a planar creature, an erinyes to be exact, who was stronger, faster, and a whole lot bigger. Even with her sharpened reflexes, she could do little but deflect her opponent's attacks. After several tense flurries of dodging and parrying, it was clear to Shazi that the longer this went on, the less favorable her pThere was only one window of opportunity, and she went for it, lunging downward for Lygess's legs. Unfortunately, the marine anticipated this and batted away her thrust. While Shazi was recovering, the taller woman charged into her, knocking her over and crushing the air out of her lungs. The sword fell clattered uselessly to the ground where it was collected by one of Lygess's men.

Shazi tasted blood welling in her mouth, but before she could catch her breath, she was being lifted up by the throat. A disgusted expression came upon Lygess's face as she regarded her helpless opponent. She dropped Shazi to the floor. "You're pathetic," she scowled. "To think that you have the blood of a tanar'ri in you. Are you addled or just a pikin' imbecile? Do you know why this child must die? Take a look in his eyes. This fine piece of feudalist garbage is burning with hate. Hate. And when he gets some hair on his face, he's going to be thinking about reclaiming his kingdom. And we're going to have to come back and destroy this place all over again. They are our enemies by birth. They cannot be swayed, they will not be reformed. Get that into your head. And if it takes a baatezu stag-turner like me to finish what the tanar'ri don't have the stomach for, then so be it. I do the things that need to be done, and I do them without question. I am the one at the head of the offensive. I am the one cleaning up your messes. I am--"

Lygess's monologue would have gone on for some time, but it was cut short by the intrusion of two Legion soldiers waving gigantic victory banners. As they happened upon the scene, they halted and looked around with bewilderment. Behind them, a dog-headed demon, a glabrezu, approached. "What the hells is going on here!" he snarled. "What the hell is this! The moment the battle's done, you turn on each other. You are a disgrace. You are all piking dead!"

One of Lygess's bulezau approached to the commander and whispered something to him. After a few more whispers back and forth, the glabrezu seemed to have calmed somewhat. "End this circus," he said while staring directly at Lygess. "Now."

"Gladly." In one stroke she severed the child's head. It fell to the floor and rolled twice while Shazi looked on. Even as she was tearing up and her body was numb with pain, she did not close her eyes. She would not forget. She could not forget. That day, Lygess earned the title of "The Cruel" and the actions of the 121st Independent Golem Detachment were stricken from the historical record.

-

As sleep took her that night, a murmur escaped her lips.

"Never again."

**********

AN: This fic has been edited and revised for grammar, style, and continuity. If you wish to learn more about the back story, please consult the short epistoliary work "After Action Report," which you can find via my profile. I must state for the benefit of the reader that this is a work of speculative fiction whose characters are not analogous to any real-world personnages. Nor are the events depicted allusions to any real-world events. Nor do I necessarily endorse any of the opinions expressed by the characters in this work of fiction.

That said, perhaps I should explain the origins of this story. Many years ago I was leading a Planescape campaign (which the story "Agent" is based on) which had the Blood War as a central component, I created a tanar'ri force known as the Bloodfist Legion, which came to embody the sort of anarchistic rage and ruthless discipline found in pockets of the Revolutionary League Faction (a particular brand of Chaotic Evil). The petitioners who ended up in the Legion's layer of the Abyss were the ones who died oppressed, with nothing but hatred in their hearts and thoughts of violent, sadistic retribution. In the timeline leading up to "Agent," the Legion was crushed in a series of apocalyptic battles that wrecked much of the Outlands, in addition to the Lower Planes. A thought entered my head back then--what if some escaped annihilation by fleeing through portals to other planes? What if the Legion ended up on a Prime world and proceeded to use their training and technological advantage to infiltrate and dominate local populations? What if they found themselves (ironically) in the position of rulership?

The seed was planted in my head years ago, but after trying the waters with "After Action Report," I feel that this plotline is worth pursuing a bit further. So, here we are. Anyway, please read and review.

*A note on ranks*

Because tanar'ri are inherently chaotic, the Legion has very few ranks which often vary widely in the scope of their command. Roughly, they are:

Commander - Division/Corps leader  
Captain - Battalion/Regiment/Brigade leader  
Lieutenant - Company leader

Below company level, ranks are not standardized at all and are termed according to their responsibilities, eg. squad leader, team leader, group leader, etc.  
These positions often rotate and shift depending on the mission and prevailing sentiment within the unit.


	2. Chapter 2

The Three Days

Chapter 2

Dawn came to to Finufaranell. As the morning fog blanketed the valley in its soft embrace, the first stirrings of activity could be discerned in the city's streets. Children—ragpickers and common urchins made orphans by the war—assembled in small packs on every street bend. The scars of the war were still too fresh to be healed. Thousands were dead. Thousands more were wounded and disabled. Survival was the only thing on the people's minds.

Not long after daybreak, the army's construction battalions began moving to their worksites. The elves of the city gave them a wide berth as they marched pell-mell down the winding streets. The city's residents directed uneasy stares at them, but the workers paid them no heed. There was too much work to be done, and far too little time with which to do it. Many dwellings had suffered heavy damage from fire and shelling in the assault, and many were too far gone to be salvaged. Elven construction was exquisite and stunning indeed, but it was not designed to endure the rigors of war. Those burned out structures had to be torn down. In their place would eventually stand edifices of reinforced concrete and stone, monuments to the might of the occupying army.

In the fortified zone, the ruler of Finufaranell awoke to the sound of knocks on her door. By force of habit, the commander was a light sleeper. After all, those who were not could not expect to live long on the infernal battlefields. Shazi bolted out of her bed and proceeded to dress herself. Without even bothering to ask, she knew who had roused her. At this distance, she could easily sense his presence. He had probably come with her morning meal. After throwing on her pants, she unlocked her door and opened it. Her batman and squadmate Balko stood before her with a knapsack slung over one shoulder. She motioned with a tilt of her head. "Come on in."

After entering, the young man shut the door without bothering to lock it. "So, how're you feeling?" he asked.

"I had too much to think about last night," Shazi replied as she laced up her vest of greensteel scale.

"About what exactly?"

Ceras. The city's name was on the tip of her tongue, threatening to slip from between her teeth. Of all the things she had seen and done, few caused such feelings of guilt and shame. It was a bitter scar that she carried invisible to others. Due to her unit's actions being suppressed from the Legion's archives, the misdeeds of that day were unknown to all but those who had directly witnessed it. Balko had been there. He was one of the few capable of understanding. She wanted to talk to him, but she already knew what his response would be. She had heard it dozens of times before. Truth be told, a part of her longed to receive those words of encouragement absolving her of responsibility, but it was far too early in the morning to start fooling herself. "Never mind that," she finally said. "So, any word?"

"The forward detachments of the marines have arrived. With prisoners."

Shazi sighed and slumped down on the floor at the foot of her bed, where she started putting on her boots. "How many?"

"Twelve, including our two 'leaders.'"

"Just a dozen? Hardly the column Shranin was talking about."

"That's all I counted going into the stockade. You'll probably want to speak to Rebkah yourself, but it's safe to count any other rebels arriving as deaders."

The commander kneaded her forehead. "Pike it all, this just gives me a headache."

"I'm sure it'll work out. Somehow." The orderly crouched down beside Shazi. He reached into his bag, broke off a large chunk of bread, and handed it to her along with a thick slab of jerky.

The bread, an insipid amalgam of coarse grains and crushed beans, was probably unappetizing to most stomachs, but Shazi had learned to live with it. For her, food was just fuel, and any appreciation she had for it consisted of taking the time to chew thoroughly. Balko poured her a mug of water, and she proceeded to dunk the meat into it. It was far too salty to eat straight. "Shit never gets old," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I guess I'll go check on our new arrivals. You stay here and watch the transponder, got it?"

"Yes, Sir; understood, Sir; absolutely, Sir!"

"Pike off," Shazi scoffed. Chuckling, she mussed his hair and pushed him back gently. Rising to her feet, she set her meal down on her desk and took up her longcoat from her chair. It was starting to fray along the edges, and its greens had long faded to dull browns—hardly the impression she wanted to make in the face of enemy leaders. However, she was never one to complain, and she wasn't about to start now. She devoured the remainder of the bread and hurriedly washed it down with the water. With the jerky clasped between her teeth, she threw on her uniform and left.

Once past her door, it was a short walk down a dark and narrow corridor to the outside. She had specifically made this blockhouse her command post, not the fortification's central keep. She had delegated that building to the medical command, which needed the space far more than she. It was unbefitting of a commanding officer to take up the trappings of a lord. In this army, it was the respect of one's subordinates that was everything. Tanar'ri had little sense for rules and regulations, and it was only through fear and admiration that a commander could impose discipline—and fear only extended so far. Shazi greeted the soldiers patrolling the upper level of the blockhouse with the customary clenched fist salute.

"Praise the strength!" one of the soldiers called out. This was followed by a chorus of the same mantra, the sacred words that even in their exile evoked the triumphs and the pains of the past.

"Praise the strength," Shazi replied. With a nod, she sent the guards back to their stations, while she herself headed to the edge of the parapet. It was the same sight every morning. The dead were being gathered in the courtyard, packed onto wagons for transport beyond the walls. The walls, still bearing the marks of battle, were being patched by small teams of craftsmen and workers. Blood splattered hospital tents were packed in row after row. The grass that had carpeted the courtyard had been churned into mud under the weight of the army's boots and war machines, and the ornate fountains that accentuated the meadows had been dismantled, their water redirected for use in the hospital. Once, this fort had been a thing of beauty, but beauty could not save the wounded or feed the starving.

On the ground, a figure called to her. The captain of the naval infantry had wasted no time in seeking her out, though there was no sense in standing down there waving. Rebkah was perfectly capable of flying up the wall, and she was perfectly capable of relaying her greetings telepathically. But the woman couldn't resist drawing attention to herself. Shazi took a deep breath and considered vaulting over the side to the ground, but she quickly reconsidered, since everything was still slick and muddy from the storm.

Down the stairs and through the gracefully arched gate, Shazi found herself greeted by the rather impatient-looking marine. Her burlap fatigues were soaked through and clung limply to her lithe six-foot frame. "You should dry yourself. You look like a drowned cat," Shazi jibed.

Rebkah ignored the teasing. "We must talk," she said as she turned around, beckoning Shazi to follow. The Commander did so without complaint. Despite outward appearances, the two officers were close and shared a deep mutual respect for one another that extended back more than half a century. Both had entered the Legion at around the same time, and although they served in different commands, they had been thrown together for too many battles to count. They had watched each other gain the scars of experience and rise in power and esteem. Even with her brevetted promotion to commander, Shazi could not regard herself as Rebkah's superior.

They spoke as equals, but with a stern distance. "How many did we lose?" was question immediately on Shazi's lips.

"None."

"None?"

"A few needed rezzing, but we took care of it."

Shazi's relief was almost palpable. She sighed audibly to the consternation of her comrade.

"What's this? Ever since this campaign started, all I hear you talk about is the matches bein' burned."

"Not this sodding piss again. You know how few of us there are, and until the next generation becomes proven for war, we simply cannot afford to replace losses. I will not take risks that will jeopardize our ability to protect our people."

"Jeopardize? In case you haven't noticed, these feudal barbarians have been the toughest enemies we've had for two pikin' decades. And we've been crushing them like shit. There's no need to be concerned with losses when you're fighting such trash."

"Pride is the death of a soldier. Remember those words."

"The Marshal's own. I grasp." Rebkah turned her eyes towards the clear sky and sighed.

"Now, about the prisoners, are they squared away?"

"I got the dozen in the keep, but there are about another thirty on their way, mixed in with the wounded."

Shazi paused mid-step. "Oh?" she inquired in surprise.

"You said to capture them. What do you take me for, a barbarian?"

-

The keep's dungeon was unusually airy. Instead of the typical rows of dark cells, the elven architects had opted for cages, with gracefully arched beams of fine steel. For elves, who prized the qualities of solitude and privacy, this open design was the penultimate debasement. Prisoners would be subjected to the gaze of guards and other prisoners alike at all hours of the day. Bodily wastes had to be excreted in full view. Archer slits lined the walls, behind which guards stood ready to shoot down anyone causing a disturbance. Thus, conversations among prisoners were low-key and brief. After several incidents in which troublemakers had been given warning shots, the prisoners understood that petulant rage would get them nowhere.

Walking several steps behind Rebkah, Shazi made her way to where the prisoners were kept. The first thing that struck her about the dungeon was the smell of sweat and urine wafting through air that was unbearably hot. "Whoo," she sighed as she hastily removed her jacket and draped it on her forearm. "What the hells is going on down here?"

Rebkah turned her head and cocked an eyebrow. We're bringing over two hundred wounded. Medical needs hot water to clean sheets and dressings, and they've been cranking the boilers. You must've skipped that report that because—"

"Because I was sleeping. Yes, yes, I know." She slapped her fellow officer on the shoulder. Can we get on with this?"

The marine chuckled. The two of them moved down a narrow walkway and spiraling steel staircase into the heart of the dungeon. In the far end of the chamber, in a cage built into the wall itself, sat the two presumptive leaders of the remaining elven forces. Clad in simple garments that were dingy and ragged from the travails of flight and capture, the two adolescents bore little outward sign of their regal heritage. However, in their eyes a cold stoicism and pride shone forth.

Rebkah, after giving the prisoners a quick look over, stepped to the side of the cage and rested against the wall, her arms folded. Shazi took a moment to inspect the two. They were weak and disheveled, but their expressions showed little acknowledgement of that reality as they gazed upwards at the commander from the floor of their cage. Shazi and dropped down in a crouch so that she could meet them eye-to-eye. "Urvirth and Fiora Banindare. Somehow I imagined that capturing the two of you would be more of a challenge." The commander waited for a response, but got only a fierce glare. "They didn't cut out your tongues, did they?"

The boy spat. However, Shazi had anticipated his delivery and calmly snapped her head out of the way. The ball of spit went wide and landed the floor several feet behind her. She cocked an eyebrow as she regarded the prisoners once more. "Amusing, but these theatrics won't get you anywhere."

"I don't bargain with Drow!" Uvirth shouted.

A snarl came from Rebkah as she sprung from the wall with her hand on the hilt of her sword. "_Watch it, Meat!_" the marine growled in Elvish. She approached the cage, but an outstretched hand from the Commander stopped her in her tracks.

Shazi returned her gaze to the prisoners. "I hope you understand the situation you're in. Let's see. We hold every town and village from Rosul on the coast to the border of the Ashlands. We have crushed your armies to shit, and we hold the two of you. The only thing that stands between us and total victory are the shoddy earthworks of your ancestral fortresses and whatever dregs you can scrape together from what's left of your forces. As we speak, our artillery is moving into position for the final assault. It won't be long." The commander smirked, expecting an answer. After a moment, when it was apparent that none was forthcoming, she continued her monologue. "Of course, there is very little you can do or say that will interest me. As far as our operational timetable is concerned, victory is assured. It is only a matter of time and a matter of blood."

"Then why talk?"

"I was hoping the two of you might have a word. It would be a shame to see more rot for a worthless cause."

"So long as I draw breath, I--"

"Well, that's a simple matter, then." Shazi motioned to Rebkah, who instantly understood. Deftly, she brought her glasteel crossbow to her shoulder, cocked it, and trained it on the adolescent elf. The boy faced the threat without flinching, without the slightest fear of death. Instead his eyes scanned back and forth between the two enemy officers with a look of unrelenting hatred.

"Get it over with," he said between clenched teeth.

The Commander returned Uvirth's resolute gaze with a stare of her own, brows slightly furrowed. Memories long neglected trickled forth, and she could not help but laugh.

"What's so funny, Lolthite?"

Shazi did not stop, her cackling echoing through the chamber. "Is that what you think I am, a Lolthite? I have more Lolthite blood on my hands than you can even begin to imagine." Flexing her right shoulder, she traced with her left hand the silvery lines of a spider web tattoo. "The Second Demonweb Pits Campaign. For an entire year the Legion ravaged Lolth's domain, crushed its armies, and razed its temples to the ground. We chewed their flesh and ground their bones to dust. We set their slaves against them and watched those feudalists ripped limb from limb. The smell of rotting flesh was our glory and the Whore of Spiders's despair. You know why I laughed? The absurdity of the petty indignation of a pair of half-grown feudal lords. Clearly you have no idea who you are dealing with."

Uvirth clenched his teeth, but did not speak. This time it was his sister who took the initiative. "Why," she began in a quavering voice, "why are you doing this? If you do not serve Lolth, whom do you fight for?"

"No gods, no masters. Only the strength of our people."

"Your people, the humans?"

"We worked ten long years to reclaim our fields from the volcanic ash, shoulder-to-shoulder with all living within our realm. We sweated, we cried, and we bled together. Our people are bound by our memory of blood and toil. Anything that harms our people is our enemy, and you are that enemy."

"We only wish to be left alone," Fiora protested.

"You really have no idea? You may be degenerates but you can't be that addled. How did the Ashlands become the Ashlands? The Black Mount sits alongside your lands, so close in fact that it should have dumped its debris on this very city. Ever ask yourself why you came out unscathed?" Shazi paused for a moment to await a response, but there was none, and she didn't expect any. With anger seething in her voice, she continued, "It's because you narcissists engineered to disrupt the wind, to blow the ash away from yourselves and towards the north, where it brought untold misery on the northlands. I have seen children starve for want of a harvest, and I have seen our people collapse from lungs hardened with concrete. And you have the audacity to wonder."

A look of shock flashed on the siblings' faces, only to disappear just as quickly. "But your humans have plundered our lands. They are destroyers of all that is natural and living!" protested Uvirth.

"Meager compensation for the price you blood merchants have extracted from us for the past thirty years. If you had accepted your burden with dignity, instead of murdering my people for only taking what they needed to survive, we would not be standing here facing each other like this. I am done here. You'll have time to think while I deal with more important matters."

The two officers headed out. Slowly, deliberately, and with a measured arrogance in their step, Shazi and Rebkah exited the way they came under the silent stares of their captives. Though anger seethed in the hearts of many of these prisoners, the overwhelming sense that they gave was one of resignation. They had failed, and their failure was engraved upon their faces. Although this certainly made her job easier, Shazi found herself perplexed. The Blood War had taught her that being captured was the same as being dead. A soldier's only responsibility was to escape if possible and to die if not. One could not be expected to live long in the baatezu slave pits, in any event. Thus, she had a conditioned respect for particularly intractable prisoners. On the one hand, they were a problem that at times necessitated lethal correction. On the other, they were interesting, and the morning's conversation reminded Shazi of that.

She had been a prisoner once, long ago, before she joined the Bloodfist Legion. What she had found so amusing was that as she spoke to the two children, she almost saw herself looking back through the bars. Amusement aside, though, she faced the very real dilemma of what to do with them. Once she had cleared the dungeon and was back in the keep's reception hall, the mask came off. Her eyebrows furrowed as she pondered her next move. Turning to face Rebkah, she asked, "Your thoughts?"

"They're feudalists. What else can I say?"

"Somehow I knew you would say that."

"You're not thinkin' up some reformist garbage, are you?"

"Don't be addled. Listen, will you do something for me?"

"What is it?"

"I want this entire place locked down tight. I want you to take your most trusted squads and station them here. Do not let anyone in to see the Banindares unless they get my approval. No visitors, not even our own. I don't want any unforeseen situations before I get word from General Ya."

"You don't trust your own?"

"I trust them enough to know their hearts. Jorunder's people are lenient, but I can't have that right now."

"Understood. I will—" She suddenly stopped, for a voice rang through her and Shazi's heads.

_Praise the strength, guys._

It only took a second for Shazi to locate the source of the telepathic message. Standing at the opened gate was a black-robed figure, completely covered from head to toe so that only a pair of white eyes were visible. Even so, this new arrival was instantly recognizable. He was Urophion Mula, a top investigator of internal security and the only illithid among the survivors of the Kalas 81st division who fled to the Prime some two-and-a-half decades ago. The mind flayer put up his hand in greeting and twinkled his fingers, and for a moment, Shazi could swear that he was smiling behind his mask.

Rebkah saluted. "Praise the strength, Comrade."

_I'm glad to see you fellows. Are you busy inventing your next perfidy?_ The man spoke with his mind as he approached the other two officers.

"And what can be compared to your perfidy?" Shazi called out, cocking a grin. "Compared to you, we're as innocent as babes."

The investigator chuckled, which came out as a gurgle and a hiss. _Compared to me? Well, one can say that my reputation precedes me. People die, but the memory remains, even such memory._

Rebkah and Shazi cast sidelong glances at each other. Rebkah nodded. Her new assignment had just begun.

-

This was an unforeseen circumstance. Mula was not supposed to be here. Last she heard, he and his people were still raking Commander Byakala's Research Division over the metaphorical coals for attempting to forge General Ya's orders…again. As she walked away from the scene, confident for now that Rebkah could keep Internal Security at bay, her mind ran over the possibilities.

Did the Council dispatch their hound in order to get a crack at their latest prisoners? Seeing how he showed up at the prison, that was the man's ostensible goal. Ostensible, yes, but probable? No. The Army's own interrogations have proved more than enough to extract the needed information. There was no need to send the best for this. There was only one reason someone like Mula got sent, and that was to root out spies and traitors. Just who was under suspicion? Was she herself on the list? The very thought was anathema to her, but she could see why.

They would accuse her of dragging her feet, of refusing to take decisive action to win the war. Following the initial conquest, Shazi had spent weeks establishing ties with the outlying villages. She had visited the elven peasantry, long exploited by their lords in the city, and took account of their needs. Under her orders, many of these villages received food and supplies that were meant for her own forces. Did those provisions end up in the hands of the rebels? Some of it, yes. She refused to trap the various small trails and roads that led through the forest. Were those same roads used to supply and reinforce the rebels? Almost certainly. She even ordered a halt to combat operations during the spring planting season, so as to not disrupt the lives of the peasants. There could be no doubt that the rebels used that opportunity to rearm and regroup.

However, all this was justifiable in the name of preventing famine conditions. The local people needed the forest paths to forage for food, and ensuring a good harvest was essential for the long-term viability of the region. And one could not argue with the other benefits. Her forces now had on their side many reliable local informants. The rebels could hardly move without Shazi's knowledge, and she put that knowledge to good use on the battlefield in handing the rebels one punishing defeat after another. Although the remnants of the elven forces were still fighting, they had been reduced to only two strongholds and were expected to only last a few more days at the most. Final victory spoke for itself.

No, thought Shazi, only a blind fanatic would try to remove her, and Mula was no fanatic. Compared to Commander Byakala, she had little heart for political power; she was not a threat to anyone, least of all the Council. So who was? Jorunder? The man's meteoric rise through the ranks had not gone unnoticed, but he had no political ambitions and was impeccable in his duties. Rebkah? That was a laugh. There were some deserters, malingerers, and neurotics who had caused trouble here and there, but Mula's job wasn't to tussle with such small fry.

She needed answers, and despite her very limited experience dealing with Internal Security, she knew that there was one person she could trust. Back in her office, she sent away her batman and immediately fired up the transponder, dialing it in to 5th Division Headquarters.

Her message was very brief: "V. S. (Detachment 11A) must report to command HQ immediately. Signed, S. S."

V. S., of course, was Valas Sabil, Shazi's own son and a member of Internal Security's Special Purpose Corps. Although the youth was only a squad leader and did not have much official responsibility, he had an ear for rumors and had a fair grasp of the internal politics of Internal Security. He had spent some time working under Mula in the past and could perhaps shed some insight into the investigator's aims.

While she waited for a response, she reviewed the documents that Balko had left on her desk. The new irrigation canals were well under way, and the rebuilding of the city was on track. According to the latest medical command report, food stocks were good, though medicines were still stretched a bit thin to handle all the incoming casualties. If only—

The transponder flashed red, diverting Shazi's attention from her paperwork. A small piece of paper emerged from the device's slot. Its message was even more succinct than her original: "SPD11A on assignment. Will update. T.G."

Shazi's eyebrows furrowed, but she didn't have time to contemplate her frustration. A second message popped from the slot, pushing the first onto the desk. It read: "Council favors execution. Command does not object unless there is justifiable reason. Final decision pending. Y. GS."

It was a strange message. Why would General Ya contact her before a final decision was made? Then it hit her—they were still debating and the General was against the execution. He was looking for a reason, a justifiable reason to keep them alive. Things began to click into place. Mula was the Council's bloodhound. He was to ensure that the Council got its way because everyone else would be too scared to act. Yes, that had to be it. Shazi focused her eyes on the words "justifiable reason" and found herself almost tearing up over the irony that now befell her. The past was something she could not escape.

-

If anyone had ever called the 65th layer of the Abyss home, they were Lolth's slave patrols. Once, they had been as much a fixture upon the landscape as the layer's perpetual twilight and murky cesspits. Over the generations, an extensive support structure of forts, markets, and caravans had rendered permanent the residence of slave catchers, despicable women and men who were as often as not drawn from the ranks of slaves themselves. They had the unenviable responsibility of tracking down runaways from the Lolth's Demonweb Pits, in addition to serving as the Spider Queen's forward buffer against any outside attack. Shazi knew these patrols intimately—from the other side.

It was a distant memory, from when she was but a child, but even now the memory stood in vivid detail. She and her younger brother Valas had stolen out of the Demonweb Pits in a deader cart, inside a pile of decaying corpses. It was not long before their mistress had discovered their absence and put out the alert. In retrospect, the decision to flee the city was rash and naïve. The 65th layer was an inhospitable wasteland, and neither she nor her brother had prepared to survive in such a wilderness. Starving, battered by storms, and brought down with fever, the two of them felt exhaustion more intensely than they had ever before. Valas's strength had given out first. He had never been much of a worker and had always been sickly. After that, things completely fell apart. Shazi could only get so far by walking with him propped up on her shoulder, and soon she was at her limit as well. They were captured, knocked unconscious, and dragged to the nearest slaver outpost.

When Shazi came to, she and her brother lay behind iron bars in the slavers' stockade. The cell had one barred ventilation window, far too small for her to squeeze through even if the bars were taken out. To the left and to the right, she could hear the scraping and the murmurs of her fellow prisoners, whom she could not see, for they were separated by thick walls. She wished to speak, to call out to the others, but glowing stare of a patrolling guard made her think better of it. Suddenly the entire wing became quiet. The whispers ceased, and even the guard had stopped walking. He tensed up, reflexively clicking his heels together. "S-Squad Leader!"

"You are relieved," called a woman's voice. Shazi went up to the bars and peered as far as she could. She caught the contour of a piwafwi, but couldn't make out much more.

"But the orders—"

"You are relieved," the woman stated again, with more emphasis. This time, the guard seemed to take the hint. He saluted once more and made haste out of her sight.

From inside the cell, the visitor came fully into view. A wave of terror washed over Shazi as she scrambled back from the bars, tripping over the bed upon which her brother still slept. Of all the faces that could appear before her, this was the one she least wanted to see.

"What, is that any way to greet your older sister?"

Sister? That was the last word that would have come to the girl's mind. Tyrant, traitor, drunk, whore, perhaps—but certainly not "sister." She struggled to right herself from the floor. The fear, that chill she felt down her spine, was still there, but a newfound strength demanded that she stand up. Hate would have it no other way.

"Here, I have something for you." The woman reached into her cloak and pulled out a loaf of bread. In the darkness, Shazi could see that it was still warm, its buttery aroma wafting into the cell and setting her stomach on edge. "Here, take it," the woman added, her voice cloyingly sweet.

The more she salivated, the more her stomach churned, the more her hate grew. That bitch. She was not going to let her have the satisfaction. Shazi reached through the bars, snatched the bread out of her sister's hand, and threw it back. It bounced off the far wall before rolling and coming to rest in the dust of the corridor. Even so, it looked irresistible.

The woman's eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. She gently picked the dust-encrusted loaf of bread from the floor and cleaned it off as well as she could with her tunic. Offering it again, she told Shazi, "If you won't eat it, will you at least give it to Valas?"

There was no malice in her sister's words, at least none that Shazi could sense. Her stomach growled and felt like it was about to jump out of her belly. She cautiously plucked the bread from her sister's fingers and held it to her breast, averting her gaze so that none could see the animal hunger etched upon her face.

"I'll return in a while, Shazi. Take care of your brother, and make sure he gets plenty o' water."

As her sister's footsteps headed off into the distance, Shazi dropped all pretense of self-restraint, tearing into the bread like a ravenous wolf given a flock of sheep. In seconds, half of it was gone, and it was only through sheer force of will that she was able to hold back from devouring the whole loaf. Shazi was not usually one to appreciate the finer pleasures of food, but this meal was one of the most exuberant sensations of her entire life. In her starved state, the bread was beyond perfect—thick, moist, and sweet, she felt it go down like a brick in her stomach.

Why had Bree done this? Why did she show them this kindness? This was not the sister she knew. Bree was a vicious drunk who beat her younger siblings into submission. She was a shameless tramp who would invite anyone with half a bottle into her bed. So many of Shazi's nights had been lost listening to the feckwitted laughter and moans of her so-called sister. On the nights where it was the masters' turn, Shazi and Valas feared for their lives. Once, she choked them both mercilessly with a belt for the perverse whim of the mistress's son. She was the kind of slave who thought nothing of betraying another if it meant that she could curry an extra ounce of favor with the master class. The fact that the whore was working as a slave catcher was no surprise at all. No surprise at all. But why was it that at this moment she was feeling gratitude?

Shazi sat against the bedpost, lost in these thoughts for quite some time. Minutes? Hours? She did not know; only the stirring of Valas from the bed snapped her out of her ruminations. She greeted her brother with a kiss and felt his forehead. It appeared that his fever was breaking—a good sign.

The boy groaned as his sister helped him sit up. "Wha—did we? Where—"

"They got us."

Valas sighed. He had already known that this was the case, but the confirmation was nonetheless disappointing.

"Here," Shazi said, "eat this. It'll help you get back some of your strength." She gave him the remaining half of the bread and reached under the bed for a large flask of water, placing it on her brother's lap. Like his sister, the boy ate ravenously. In a few large gulps, the bread was heading towards his stomach and being washed down with water.

"Where did you get this?"

"Bree was here. She works here."

Upon hearing that, Valas choked on his water and doubled over in a violent fit of coughing. Shazi slapped him on the back as best she could, but it was some time before Valas was fit to speak again. "Please," he croaked out, his eyes as wide as saucers, "you'll have to kill me before she comes back. I ain't gonna turn grass like her!"

"What're you—"

"Names, Shazi, she wants names. She's feeding us so we can talk. If we don't, it's gonna be that night all over again. She's gonna use us against each other. I can't have that. You will have to kill—"

"Look at me." Shazi grabbed her brother by the head and pressed their foreheads together. With the other arm, she hugged him tightly. Staring directly into his eyes, she repeated, "Look at me! We've always been together, and we're going to get out of this together. We only have each other. If I lose you, there's no point."

This seemed to have calmed Valas somewhat, though Shazi knew that he was right. How could she have been so stupid to be fooled like that! Her brother had a sharp intellect with a well-developed sense of paranoia, and he was always able to catch on quickly. If this was indeed the case, there was no way out besides a slow, agonizing death. But she could not stop thinking. There had to be a way. There just had to be.

Thunder echoed in the distance. Only, it wasn't thunder. In her brief time on the run, she had seen them, soldiers of an army unknown, dragging their cannon through the swamps. These slave patrols had nothing of the sort. The "enemy" was close and getting closer. There was a chance. If the outpost were to come under attack, there was a chance that it would be evacuated. In such an event, most of the slaves would probably be killed. However, if there was still an interest in what she knew, there was a chance that she and Valas could be evacuated. Getting out of the cell would be a step. She only needed to stall her sister long enough…

Her train of thought was interrupted by her sister's reappearance. Bree stood at the front of the cell with a keyring in her hand. She fumbled with it for a few seconds before she found the right key. Unlocking the cell, she stepped in, only to re-lock the door behind her. Upon seeing her imposing presence, Valas backed himself into the corner of the bed against the wall. Shazi, swallowing her conditioned fear, sat in front of her younger brother to face their tormentor.

Bree sighed. "Look, I can't take back all that's happened between us, but believe me, I'm trying to help. I'm doing everything I can to help you." Seeing no response, she moved to the bed and sat on the edge. As she turned to face Shazi, with a piercing gaze of pain and regret, she reached out to stroke the girl's filthy bob. "It must have been so rough for you. Tell me about it."

For a short while, the three siblings traded small talk about people and places they knew. The conversation was cordial and polite, and Shazi was careful not to give out any leads, but it wasn't too long before Bree moved on to the point.

"So," she asked, "you come out here, the two of you, all alone?"

"Yes. You taught us to be tough."

"Sneaking two people past the gate. You should be proud."

"We didn't go by the gate. We went through the sewers."

At this moment, there was a large explosion outside, close enough to rattle the ears. The outpost was exposed to direct attack. Then, for the first time that day, Shazi saw the telltale signs of impatience creep upon her sister's face. The hurried response came with a hint of sarcasm. "How did you manage that? I was told that the entire sewer system of the slave quarter was sealed."

"We didn't go in through the slave quarter."

"Where, then?" Another explosion. Screams came from outside. Bree's foot, propped up on her knee, started twitching.

"It was a catacomb of some kind. There was a collapsed tunnel connecting it to the sewer."

"Must've taken you a while."

"Yes…" Shazi's response was cut off by a massive explosion that shook the building violently. She and Valas clung to each other for support, as Bree tried to suppress the sheer animal terror that threatened to overtake her.

"We don't have time. Why don't you tell your sister the truth?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't screw with me, you little rascal! Do you expect anyone to believe your story? The sewers are crawling with creatures who can swallow runts like you whole!"

"Good to see you again, Bree."

The woman growled her anger and frustration. Grabbing her younger sister by the shoulders, she pinned her against the wall hard. "Do you have any idea how much I'm risking for the two of you shits? I told the commander that I'd get results, and unless she gets them, the two of you are going to die here."

"All you could ever do was hit the two of us. You have no power over anyone else."

"Everything I did I did for you! I put food on the table. I sacrificed every ounce of my pride and dignity making sure the two of you didn't starve! I'm going to get you out of here whether you want it or not. I know you had help. Tell me who the sodding shit was!"

Shazi was terrified, but as she saw the tears forming in her sister's eyes, she knew that Bree was every bit as desperate as she was. They were being shelled. They were going to die. They were going to die unless she gave them what they wanted. She thought of the old man who had smuggled them out in his cart. For a moment, she seriously considered spilling. As the fort was crumbling around her, she realized that she was out of options. The old man's name was just on the tip of her tongue.

But she never got the chance to speak. Molten fragments and dirt from a near-miss flew in from the window. The next shot was not so poorly aimed, nor the next and the next. The ceiling of the cell block started to collapse under the weight of repeated hits. Chunks of concrete fell and the beams splintered. Bree just managed to toss Shazi out of the way before a ceiling beam fell and pinned her to the ground. There was a loud crunch that could be heard even amidst the din; Bree's spine was most likely crushed.

Shazi's eyes darted back and forth between her two siblings—Valas, who was still cowering in the corner, and Bree, who was futilely trying to wiggle herself free. Shazi approached her sister and reached down under the rubble crushing her back. The keys! She had to get the keys.

-

A rapping at the door stirred Shazi from her memories. "Commander! Commander!" shouted Balko. "They're waiting for you down there!"

"What's happened?"

"The deaders have arrived!"

It was practically a ceremony now. After every major engagement, the Army brought the bodies of dead rebels back to the city for identification, at least the ones who were not claimed on-site. Small groups of the city's inhabitants, after being carefully vetted and searched, were allowed into the keep to see if their friends and loved ones were among the lost. Shazi often stood amongst the soldiers of her brigade overlooking the rows and rows of corpses. There was no pride, no gloating, only the stoic acceptance of death's tragedy. Today was a day like any other.

Over a hundred bodies were laid out on blankets in the keep's central plaza. Some were charred beyond recognition. Although the smell of decay was not strong, the smell of burned flesh caused several onlookers to retch. The line of visitors snaked their way amongst the cadavers, and every so often along the way, someone would collapse to the ground weeping. It was a pattern repeated too many times to count—the flash of recognition, the moment of shock, followed by the interminable misery of bereavement. This was something Shazi willed herself to see. War was glory, but war was also this.

Today, the pattern repeated many, many times. Today, however, the pattern was also broken. One elven woman, wild eyed and distraught, rose from weeping over the body of her son. Listlessly, she approached the mass of soldiers. At first, no one knew what to make of her, but when she got within ten paces, two alu-fiends rushed forward to restrain her. The woman was unusually tall for an elf and unusually difficult to restrain. Her black, clumpy locks thrashed wildly as she tried to free herself from the soldiers' grasp. "Give him back!" she screamed.

"I'm sorry, he's dead!" one of the girls shouted at her in an attempt to calm her down. This seemed to have the opposite effect.

The woman stretched her hand out directly towards Shazi. "I've heard—I've seen your dark magic! Bring him back! I've seen—bring my son back! Even if he's undead bring him back!" Hysterical sobbing overtook her once more, and she collapsed to the ground along with her two captors.

The woman didn't know what she was asking. That was the first thought in Shazi's head. For the procedure to work, one needed tanar'ri blood, whether already present in the body or in the process of transfusion. She herself had undergone an augmentation process, replacing her blood with that of a tanar'ri. It was the act that bound her to the Legion, and it took years to shape and focus the chaos that coursed through her very veins. For Shazi, the augmentation was a blessing, but she had been a willing subject. With an unprepared or resisting subject, violent derangement was the expected result. Reanimation as undead was something on a whole other level. There was a reason why the General had expressly forbidden these and other unconventional procedures such as limb grafting from being performed on the Finufaranell elves.

She did not know how this woman saw or heard about resurrection procedures, but it was clear that the woman did not know much. There was no need to interrogate her. Besides, she had already suffered enough. Shazi walked forward to the woman and whispered, "I'm sorry." She then turned to the rows of corpses and found the one that the woman had been weeping over. He was young and small, barely out of childhood by elven standards. The cause of death was a single slash to the neck, severing the jugular. Apart from that, the body was in remarkably good shape. It was a perfect candidate for resurrection.

For a moment, her confidence wavered. How would the boy react to his new condition? Nothing was certain. There was a chance for everything. But the elves here would declare him an abomination. They would ostracize him out of fear and envy. How could she answer others whose loved ones were left to putrefy in the earth?

Slowly, reverently, Shazi pulled the tarp over the body. As her eyes turned towards the sky, she wondered if Valas was well.


End file.
